Dangerous
by Unfurled Sails
Summary: S3. One-shot. Zuko thinks he has found the perfect training spot. Katara thinks otherwise.


Fire is dangerous. Zuko knows this. Its brightness stings the eyes. Its heat burns the flesh. Fire is easy to create, difficult to control, and almost impossible to extinguish. Fire has only one purpose. To burn.

He counts his pushups. When his arms refuse to move anymore, he pauses for a few seconds, takes a few rapid breaths, and resumes pumping his body up and down. Sweat falls from his glistening face and forms little droplets on the stone floor of the Western Air Temple. They briefly reflect the pale blue of the receding night sky before evaporating into the balmy midsummer's air.

When Zuko was a kid, just a kindling of a bender, he used to believe if he used his fire too much he would start to melt away into nothing, like a candle. All that light and heat must be coming from somewhere, right? Somewhere within him. When he asked Mother, she reassured him that of course it wasn't so, had he ever seen a half melted man walking around? And then Azula heard of this somehow and ceaselessly mocked him about it until he started to avoid her altogether to keep himself from losing his mind and attacking her.

Pushups are over. He pants, his bare chest rising and falling. With a single, smooth motion he brings his knees under his torso, plants his palms firmly on the ground, and rises up to a straight handstand. As blood pours down to his head, he closes his eyes, and tries to concentrate.

Deep down, he still believes. After all, to burn, fire needs fuel. He may not drip down like wax anytime soon, but something does fuel the fire that he spends with such carelessness... And one day, it may not be there anymore.

One day, he may have to pay a price.

His arms are trembling now, but he grits his teeth and tightens his biceps to keep them still. He points his toes skywards and parts his legs until each leg points in opposite directions. He keeps his form for exactly ten seconds, and then locks his knees back together. There. Now do it nine more times.

What fire consumes, it destroys utterly, irrevocably. Every time he lets flames spew out from his fingertips a niggling worry sneaks its tendrils within his thoughts. One day, he thinks, just when he least expects it, he will look in the mirror and see a different Zuko, standing in his old self's ashes.

Ten. Legs as stiff and straight as a wooden staffs, he lowers himself to a planche. Knives dig into his abdomen. It's been too long since he has done this properly. He grits his teeth, tries to dispel the pain and the weakness and the doubt and the fear.

Then she's here. The waterbender.

He doesn't see her. Uncle once told him that firebender or not, everybody has a little bit of a spark inside them. "And if you listen just right, you can hear it, beating like a heart."

"It's probably just the heart, Uncle."

But, right now, with his eyes closed and his whole body screaming at him, he can swear he can hear the spark. Crackling, writhing in her chest. He feels her eyes on him.

He's not a circus freak performing a show at her expense. He releases his arms, and eases himself down onto the cold marble. His exhausted shoulders twitch involuntarily. He releases the breath he has been holding, and the twitching stops. He opens his eyes. She's exactly where he thought she would be. Leaning on a column. Watching.

He should say something, but he doesn't know what to say, so he says, "What?"

"You're supposed to be asleep," Katara says. "I thought firebenders slept all through the night."

"We do." But traitors don't sleep. He springs up to his feet, picks up his tunic, and puts it on. The rough cloth feels itchy on his skin. "Why are you awake, then?"

"It's full Moon," Katara says simply.

"Oh." He doesn't understand, but doesn't dare asking further.

She brings out a waterskin from that little bag that's always strapped to her shoulder, and flings it at him. Zuko catches it instinctively, and stares at it.

"Don't worry. It's just water," Katara says.

Zuko decides not to reply to that. He uncorks the leather bag and takes a swig. Then another. Then another. He's breathless. He hands the empty bag back to her. "Thanks." He sits on the edge of the terrace, his legs dangling off into the abyss. "How did you find me?" He chose the topmost level of the furthest tower he could reach. It took him the better part of an hour just to get here, jumping from tower to tower, slithering across narrow pathways that jutted out of the edge of the cliff. And yet she doesn't have hair out of place. She even has those loop things of hers. He hasn't seen them for a while.

"There are tunnels inside the cliff going everywhere. Aang found them."

"Oh," Zuko says again. He feels stupid for not knowing. That's what you get for not keeping in touch with them, you idiot. He hasn't really made a genuine effort at mingling with the group other than the odd adventure. Mostly, he has kept to himself.

A minute passes in silence. Zuko looks at nowhere in particular. A pleasant tiredness settles in his extremities. He knows he will be sore tomorrow. Good.

"Aren't you afraid you'll fall?" Katara asks.

Zuko frowns. "What?"

"You're sitting on the edge."

Zuko blinks, then looks down. He knows down beyond the night's darkness there lies a foaming river, and sharp, sharp rocks. If he fell, it would take him a very long time to reach the bottom. He thinks about this, but no fear stirs in him. "I'm not afraid of heights, I guess."

"Neither am I. It's still dangerous."

Zuko smirks. "Sometimes that's the point. Would it make you feel better if I moved back a little?"

She makes a show of scoffing. "I don't care."

Zuko raises an eyebrow. "Is that so?" He gives a little push forward.

For a glorious quarter of a second, he falls. Then he snatches the ledge just as it is slipping out of reach. He can hear Katara screaming. Her face appears above him.

"Are you completely out of your mind?" Her eyes are wide. She's either angry, or terrified, or both.

"What do you care?" Zuko says. He doesn't smirk, but he knows she will hear it in his voice.

Definitely anger now. She purses her lips until they become hair thin. "It's not funny."

"Aren't you going to help me up?" he asks playfully.

But she's already walking away. He hears the scuffling of her shoes recede, then stop. A single, decisive pullup, and Zuko hoists himself back on the terrace. Katara's arms fold under her chest. He cannot see her eyes. She remains silent.

"Look, I'm sorry," Zuko says, hands on knees. His eyes feel heavy. The light blue sky tells him he should go to sleep soon if he wants to wake up to work with the Avatar. He can feel the sun approach. "I won't do it again. I promise."

"You're Aang's firebending teacher," she says, her voice restrained.

"I know," Zuko says softly.

"You know you have to take care of yourself so you can teach him."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Good." She takes a breath. Hesitates. "Do you want to practice?"

For a second, Zuko cannot comprehend the change in topic. It's as if the past few minutes have not happened at all. "You-you mean spar?"

She shrugs. "I came here to work on a few forms in private, but you were already here. You didn't let me. And now the night's almost over. I think you owe me something."

Is she trying to punish him? Is she that angry? "It's full Moon."

"And the Sun's rising," she retorts immediately. "If you're too afraid, just say so. It's okay."

Of course he won't leave. Not after she gave him every reason not to. _Azula is not the only devious one,_ he thinks. _It's all womenfolk._ "Firebenders don't spar. We can't. You can pull your punches with water. I can't do the same with fire. I won't guarantee you'll not get burned."

She brings another, and much larger waterskin from her bag. Then she lays the bag neatly on the ground beside her. Uncorks the waterskin, lets the water splash freely on the ground until a glittering, ever expanding puddle surrounds her. The sun appears over the horizon, illuminating her face, and Zuko sees she's smiling. "Try me," she says.

Without thinking about it, he flexes his fingers just so, feels the sparks buzzing just underneath his nails, itching to come out. A smile creeps up his face as well.

Fire is dangerous. Zuko knows this. But maybe, just for now, it is okay to be dangerous.


End file.
